Milla Please Come Back
by sincerelymendacious
Summary: Sasha Nein is not trapped in Whispering Rock with the campers. The campers are trapped in there with him.
1. Chapter 1

This is a secret santa gift for my pal Kolas/Lobotish/Butterscotch Fox! I love this prompt so much that I wrote 2 of them and there is still more to come! Thank you!

* * *

"I shouldn't be gone for more than a day."

Sasha was not sure why Milla kept repeating that assurance, as he had not made any vocal inquiry regarding the length of her absence from Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp. He hadn't been thinking the question either, at least not in any way that one could easily pick up with telepathy. Perhaps she had noticed some unconscious anxiety simmering just beneath the surface of his psyche that he was not aware of- sometimes it seemed that she knew his own emotions better than he did.

They were both in her quarters near Lake Oblongata, him sitting on the bed watching her as she packed her things in the most aggravating manner possible. She kept taking garments out of the dresser drawer, holding them up in front of her and scrutinizing them before shoving them into her already-stuffed overnight bag. Not a second later she would remove that very same article of clothing and exchange it for something else, which would then be quickly replaced by yet another brightly-colored article of clothing. If Sasha had been the one being sent on an urgent mission to meet a mercenary of dubious moral character he would have had a single outfit neatly folded and ready the previous night.

Sasha was not overly-concerned about Milla's well-being, as this particular mercenary, who claimed to have 'super important information like you wouldn't believe', was very obviously harboring a serious crush on her and he suspected that this 'information' was merely pretense to meet with her alone (Milla, for her part, could never remember this person's name or face with any consistency). He was also not too worried about having to supervise the campers without her assistance. He did, however, feel the need to point out that a one-day trip likely did not require six dresses.

"Oh, darling," she said, putting aside a pair of garishly-striped shorts and coming over to him. "You know that I like to have more than one outfit on hand, in case I change my mind." She put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed, her warm skin penetrating the leather of his jacket. "I'll be back by tomorrow afternoon at the latest."

Sasha frowned and said nothing, silently watching her pack, silently getting up when she had finished, and then following her as she walked out of her quarters and headed to the jet (silently, of course). When they arrived he allowed her to throw her arms around his neck (and he only returned the embrace because she seemed to be losing her balance. Yes.). "I won't be gone long," she said, the words spoken against his ear in a way that made him want to tighten his hold on her, though he didn't. She untangled herself from him and rushed up the ramp, turning back to give a quick wave before disappearing inside the jet. Within seconds the plane was aloft and flying off towards the established meeting place.

For a moment, Sasha stood there, watching the jet as it diminished in the distance. Then he realized that what he was doing was foolish and set off back to his lab.

He told himself he could handle a day (or two or more) without her as he walked, the mud from yesterday's rain squelching unpleasantly under the nice, Italian leather loafers she had bought him for his birthday. Did he want to? No, not particularly, but that was only because he enjoyed her company and not because he had any doubt in his abilities to manage twenty psychic children of varying levels of stability and sanity. It wasn't like he was on his own, as both Morry and Ford were still present. The temporary absence of one person was neither a reason to alter his routine or feel unnecessary stress.

"Agent Nein!" called a high-pitched, somewhat nervous sounding voice. "Hey! Agent Nein!"

Sasha paused, listening as the child ran over to him, only turning around once the cadet had caught up to him. Quentin Hedgemouse stood before him, not appearing all that winded from the quick dash from the Cabin area. _This camper looks unwell,_ Sasha thought, noting the dark circles under the boy's eyes and the quick, anxious way he played with the edges of his scarf. The scarf itself was not properly wrapped at all, hanging loosely around Quentin's neck. This irritated Sasha and he resisted the urge to fix it (with telekinesis, of course- psychically touching the children was something he did only as a last resort). "You're up early," Sasha observed, as it was just a little bit past dawn.

"Ah, yeah." Quentin trailed off in a forced laugh, seemingly embarrassed at being awake at this hour. Sasha guessed that this meant that Quentin had simply not slept at all. He could not help but be curious about this, as Quentin was one of the more well-adjusted campers. "Was that, uh…?" He pointed upwards at nothing in particular. "Was that Milla? Leaving just now?"

"Milla has been called away on an emergency mission that I am not allowed to elaborate on," Sasha replied. His response must have sounded terse, for he saw Quentin flinch a bit; probably assuming that Sasha's annoyance had been directed at him. "She should be back soon," he continued, making an effort to keep his tone neutral.

"Oh." The single syllable was heavy with disappointment. Quentin looked up at the sky, then back at Sasha's impassive expression. They stared at one another, neither of them certain of whether they should continue the conversation or just go their separate ways. It was obvious enough that Quentin was having some sort of trouble that he had wanted to speak with someone about, and that someone had been Milla. Sasha did not need to read Quentin's mind to know that he was having a mental debate regarding his next course of action. He read it anyway, finding that the boy's thoughts matched up with the movement of his eyes. When his eyes shifted to the right, he was considering taking his chances with Sasha, and when he looked down at his shoes, he was thinking _no, maybe I can just wait…_

Sasha did not care to be anybody's second choice, but it was clear enough that Quentin's problem was causing him a significant amount of emotional distress, and it was would have been irresponsible on his part to send Quentin back to bed in the state that he was in. The nature of this problem could not have been that complex, as Quentin Hedgemouse was a generally competent young man who had no conflict with his peers and a stable home life. Chances were good that this problem was merely a molehill being made into a mountain, as was typically the case with children Quentin's age. "Is something the matter?" Sasha asked, getting straight to the point. "I understand that you would have preferred to speak with Agent Vodello-"

"Oh, no!" Quentin interrupted, holding his hands out in a placating manner in front of him. He appeared to be under the impression that Sasha had taken offense at him wanting to talk to Milla and not him. "You're a good dude, uh, I like…talking to you too?"

Sasha waited for Quentin to stop stammering idiotically before continuing. "I am only offering to lend an ear for your benefit, not my own. If you would rather wait for Agent Vodello's return, I will not hold it against you."

Quentin looked away, bit his lip, wrung his hands, and then finally nodded. "Yeah, okay. If it's not like, too much trouble." He breathed out, the very act of getting someone to listen to him alleviating some of his anxiety. "Thanks, bro, I appreciate it."

Sasha inclined his head, not really sure of why he was being thanked when he had not yet done anything, and certainly not sure why he was being referred to as a 'bro' . The day had just barely begun and already the sky was overcast with dark gray clouds. "Let's proceed to my lab and we can discuss whatever it is that's bothering you there."

"Your lab?" Quentin rubbed the back of his neck nervously. "How 'bout we go to the Main Lodge? It's closer!" He smiled weakly up at Sasha. "Also, there's like hot chocolate and stuff."

That was a good point, though Sasha was not sure why Quentin was so averse to going to his lab. But there was little reason to argue about it, and a cup of black coffee sounded pretty appealing at this point in time. "Fine, then," he agreed, walking off towards the lodge, Quentin trailing only slightly behind him.

* * *

It took maybe five minutes to arrive at the Main Lodge and then another ten before they actually sat down and started talking, as Quentin had insisted upon fixing Sasha a cup of coffee as a show of gratitude ("You sure you don't want a cup of this killer hot chocolate?" "Quite"). Five more minutes had passed since then, making it twenty total since Quentin had first approached Sasha.

He still had no idea what Quentin's problem actually was. It was not from any reluctance to speak on the boy's part- even now he was chattering on in that slang-filled, approachable manner that he had, his sentences peppered with extraneous 'likes' and 'mans'. He spoke mostly about how 'bummed out' his problem was making him, and how he had been trying to find somebody to talk to about it.

"Phoebe, yeah, she would have been the best, you know?" He paused, trying to confirm whether or not Sasha did, in fact, know. "She and I have been tight since, jeez, I don't know man, feels like forever. But I was like, 'oh man, what if she gets super worried about me and gets all worked up?' She already tries to take care of everybody else. You know she wants to be a Psycho-therapist, yeah? So thought maybe I oughta go to Chops, he's pretty cool…"

On it went like that. Sasha allowed it, because oftentimes a person revealed more through the way they said something than through the words themselves. Here, Quentin spoke rapidly, when normally the tempo of his speech was more relaxed. His hands seemed to move about as though they did not know what to do with themselves, the fingers of one hand tracing patterns onto the scratched wooden surface of the table while the other made vague, random gestures as he talked. He was smiling, yes, but it wasn't the natural, friendly smile that usually graced his features, one more strained and uncertain that seemed to only be there out of habit.

Sasha also noticed that while Quentin had put a great deal of thought into the reasons why he couldn't talk to his peers about his problem, he hadn't made any mention of turning to his family members. Sasha had met both of Quentin's parents during Parent's Day and remembered them as being kind and supportive in the way that wealthy, liberal couples with one child often were. Contacting them would not have been difficult for Quentin; Morry let the campers use his phone so long as they came during the appropriate hours. This led Sasha to conclude that Quentin's problem involved his family and was not the petty camp drama that Sasha had initially suspected that it was.

Interesting.

When Sasha had collected all the data that Quentin's indirect rambling could offer him, he held up a hand. "You've already mentioned how 'chill' Dogen Boole is," he said as Quentin's cheeks flushed in embarrassment. "I think it's time you told me what specifically is causing you so much anxiety."

"I wouldn't say that I'm anxious," Quentin replied, wrapping one hand around the handle of his mug. "I'm just, you know, going through a rough patch, I guess. Kinda freaked out." He let go of the mug and lifted it up with shaky telekinesis, bringing the mug to his lips and taking a sip. A drop of liquid spilled out of the mug, splattering onto the table.

Sasha watched as Quentin sipped and then swallowed, his mouth set into a neutral line. When Quentin set the mug down, he spoke. "I cannot help you with your problem if you do not tell me what it is," he said, his tone neither soft nor impatient. He glanced over at the window, noticing a few drops of water on the glass plane. "Perhaps we should suspend this conversation for now and return to it when you're feeling more emotionally prepared to address it."

"No!" Quentin shot to his feet, his arms outstretched as though to keep Sasha from leaving, despite him not actually having made any move to rise. "Don't- no, no man." He lowered himself back down into his seat, placing his head in his hands. "I can talk now, I just…" He sighed and looked up at Sasha, his eyes holding a sort of nervous bafflement in them. "I don't even know if there even is a problem. Maybe I'm just getting all freaked out over nothing."

It was clear that Quentin had never experienced any sort of real difficulty in his life up until this point, and he came off as more confused by his distress than depressed or angry. It was likely that Quentin's inability to broach the topic in a direct manner was result of him not knowing how to put what was bothering him into words. "This has something to do with your family," Sasha said, hoping that a plain statement of fact would help Quentin get started.

Quentin's eyes widened in surprise. "Yeah," he said, voice tinged with awe at Sasha's accurate guess. "How'd you know- oh wait." He slapped himself on the head. "Duh, mind-reading."

"Well no, I did not have to use telepathy to come to that conclusion. But we don't need to dwell on that right now," Sasha said, waving his hand to move the conversation along. "You are having some sort of issue at home, but you aren't sure what the exact nature of this issue is and it's causing you a significant amount of stress."

"Wow. That about sums it up," Quentin said, sitting up a little more. His shoulders visibly sagged with relief at Sasha's assessment. "I just got the feeling that something like, really major happened and nobody wants to tell me about it cuz they don't want to ruin my good time."

Sasha tapped his chin contemplatively. "And what about their behavior makes you think that?"

"That's the thing! I don't know why I'm thinking this!" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eyes shut. "I'll talk to my mom or my dad and I'll be all like 'hey what's the happy-haps?' and they'll start telling me a bunch of mundane stuff." He opened his eyes, casting a wearing gaze at Sasha. "But they'd get like, super detailed about all this boring stuff, and I don't remember them ever doing that before?" His eyes fell to the table, remaining fixed on the drops of cocoa drying on the table. "And then they'll ask me about my day, which, yeah, they always do, but it all sounds so…forced. Like they're trying to make themselves be happy or something." Furrowing his brows, he began scratching his thumbnail into the table, leaving a thin, curving line in the wood. "I don't know. Maybe it's just me. Maybe this weird feeling I get in my stomach when I talk to them is just indigestion or something."

"If what you're reporting is an accurate account of your parent's behavior, I believe that you have some cause for concern." Sasha took a sip of his coffee (not badly prepared considering its maker was a ten year old boy) and added "of course, there is a possibility that that you may be picking up on some lingering anxiety left behind by one of your peers. Let's assume, however, that that's not the case," Sasha said, pushing aside his mug and leaning forward. "Have you made any attempt at bringing this up with your parents?"

"Um." Quentin looked away guiltily. "I mean, I tried. Sort of."

"Define try for me."

"The other night I was talking to my mom and I asked if there was, you know, anything that I should know and she just got all quiet and stuff for a sec. And then she started talking about adding banana peels to the compost heap. Which is great and all, but totally not what I meant." He scratched his head, looking perplexed. "She's never kept secrets from me before. Except for the whole Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy thing, but she was a lot more chill about that."

"Hm." Sasha was, by this point, genuinely interested in Quentin's situation, if only because he wanted to see how this relatively sheltered child dealt with emotional difficulty and not because he had any empathy for him. "What would be the worst case scenario for you?" he asked, resting his chin on his steepled fingers.

Quentin blinked, apparently never having actually thought of the question. "Um, I guess…my parents getting divorced?" He frowned, scrunching his nose up. "But that doesn't seem right, because they don't really fight or yell at each other or anything."

"What else, then?"

It took Quentin a solid minute to think of a catastrophe that had a reasonable chance of befalling his family, a difficult task given how unfamiliar with strife he was. But it did eventually occur to him, and Sasha observed how the blood drained instantly from the boy's face, how his eyes filled with panic, and his mouth dropped open in shock. "Oh my God," he said, his voice low with despair. "Dude. It's my grandma." The stress the statement had caused him was so strong that even Sasha, with his limited emphatic abilities, was able to register it. "Something happened to her." He shot up from his seat, his panic urging him into action of some sort, and then just stood there, clueless as to what that action should be. "I haven't like, talked to her since…I dunno!" he shouted, his voice echoing throughout the empty lodge.

"Is that an unusual occurrence?" Sasha asked, cool in the face of Quentin's alarmed state.

"Uh…" Quentin rocked back and forth a little on his feet as he thought, swaying almost like he would on a levitation ball. _Perhaps such motions are calming for him,_ Sasha theorized, _mimicking the physical feel of being on a ball could be an unconscious attempt to induce the mental state one must be in to maintain it._

"I guess it's not that weird," Quentin eventually concluded. "My Grandma likes to travel. Last summer she went hiking in the Andes." He breathed out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, his relief was short lived, as a new despairing thought crept into his mind. "But why wouldn't my parents just tell me that?" Quentin asked, not at all comforted by Sasha's shrugged response. "Usually they'll be like, 'oh, Gram's chillin' in the Sahara,' and I'll be like 'cool' but they haven't said anything about her leaving." The swaying began again, though it seemed to do little to abate Quentin's rising panic. "And if she's home, why isn't she talking to me? Maybe she's busy?" Again, he looked to Sasha for an answer and received only a shrug in reply. "But even then my parents would be like 'oh Gram says hi.' So what gives? Is she okay? Did she get sick? Did she get hurt? What if-"

"Enough." Sasha cut off Quentin's increasingly rapid rambling with a single stern word. He motioned for the camper to sit back down, which Quentin obeyed. "This sort of speculation will only exacerbate your anxiety. You need to take steps to actually address the problem."

Quentin nodded numbly, though he missed what Sasha had meant. "You think I should try asking about Grandma directly?"

"No. If there is something wrong with her your parents are just going to continue lying about it." Sasha leveled a hard stare right at Quentin, who shrank back nervously. "You need to figure out a way to find out what's happening that doesn't involve speaking to your parents."

"Um, how do I do that?" Quentin asked, blinking up as Sasha as he tried to comprehend his meaning. "I'm not sure I'm catching your drift, Agent Nein."

"You have to use your psychic powers." Sasha mentally assessed what he knew of Quentin's skills. "You have achieved the highest rank available at this camp. I see no reason why you couldn't use telepathy over the phone to read one of your parent's minds."

"I dunno, dude," Quentin said uneasily. "My telepathy is only, like, okay. I don't know if I could do something like that."

To Sasha that sounded like an excuse not to try, and he told Quentin as much. "You've never had a reason to push the limits of your telepathy," he pointed out, "so this could be an opportunity to test the skills you will need in the future."

Quentin still wasn't convinced, despite the clear logic of Sasha's reasoning. "That…doesn't that kind of stuff have consequences?"

"If by consequences you mean that you discover the truth, then yes," Sasha replied, irritated by Quentin's hesitation. "Isn't that what you want?"

"I mean, I guess," Quentin conceded reluctantly. "So you've never read someone's mind and had it backfire on you?"

There was a brief pause on Sasha's part. "No, never."

"Really?" Quentin raised his eyebrows. "You've never accidentally gone too far and found out something you didn't want to know?"

"We are not talking about me," Sasha said, an edge of frustration in his tone. "We are talking about you and your problem." He flicked his bangs off of his forehead. "If you are so averse to using telepathy, how about trying Clairvoyane? Do you have an item that you can use to establish a mental connection with your Grandmother?"

Immediately Quentin's hands flew to the scarf around his neck. "I…have a few things, I think."

"Good. Use them to find out your Grandmother's condition." Quentin opened his mouth to speak but Sasha interrupted him. "Or don't, and continue to remain in the dark. It is your choice."

"This will make me feel better?" Quentin said, looking at Sasha with desperation. "Even if it's a super bad thing?"

"It is always better to know the full scope of a situation," Sasha said before finishing off the last of his coffee. "Once you know what you're up against, you can take steps to address it in a logical, efficient way."

Quentin sighed, absently rubbing the material of his scarf between his fingers. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But I still gotta like, sort myself out before I do anything."

"If you feel the need to emotionally prepare yourself, that's understandable. But if you wait too long you will talk yourself out of doing it," Sasha warned. "But it's your decision to make."

"Um, yeah, I'll keep that in mind." Quentin rose, taking his mug with him. "Thanks Agent Nein. Really appreciate the help." He thumbed towards the rec room. "I'm gonna go watch some infomercials and try to think things over."

Sasha nodded and watched Quentin as he departed; confident that the boy would see the value of the advice he had been given. He was not particularly invested in Quentin Hedgemouse- he was more Milla's student- but he decided that he'd keep an eye on him for the next few days, as an ordeal like this was the sort that would show the true potential of a cadet. He got up, used telekinesis to place the mug in the kitchen's sink, and then headed towards the exit, feeling pretty satisfied with himself for setting Quentin on a path that would no doubt lead to positive growth. He opened the door and found that it had not yet begun to rain, which only improved his good mood.


	2. Chapter 2

The clearness of the day, and by extension, Sasha's good mood, did not last longer than the time it took for him to reach his lab. He was drenched and dripping by the time he returned, and had only just begun to descend the staircase when Milla made a request that would send him right back out into the downpour.

 _I don't have my wallet,_ she insisted through their mental connection.

 _Yes you do,_ Sasha argued as he dried his glasses with a cloth that was itself too wet to do the job well. _I saw you put it in your bag._

 _It's not there. I looked all through it._

 _Did you take everything out?_

 _No, but I couldn't feel it and it wasn't in any of the pockets._

Sasha frowned and put his glasses back on, already knowing that they would be wet again within the minute. _You took so many clothes with you that you need to take everything out. It has to be wrapped up in one of your dresses._

 _I will, sweetheart, I will, but can't you just check for me? Please? I really do think I left it on the dresser…_

And because Milla was his closest friend, and because he cared for her in a way that he did nobody else, he levitated back up into the G.P.C. and ventured out once more into the rain. _Even if it is on your dresser, what can you do about it?_ Sasha thought grumpily as he trudged over the muddy path that lead to the lake, a shield over his head the only thing protecting him from the water. _It's not like you can come back and get it._

He arrived at her cabin and quickly found that the wallet was not on her dresser, nor was it in any of the other locations that Milla suggested he look.

 _It's not wedged under your mattress,_ he reported, at this point thoroughly irritated.

 _Maybe it's behind the- oh._

 _Oh-what?_ Sasha thought, knowing exactly what that 'oh' meant. The anticipation of giving a well deserved I-told-you-so was rising up within him. _You've found it, haven't you?_

… _yes._

She allowed him to gloat for one minute before cutting the connection abruptly, an act that annoyed him more than a little considering how much trouble he'd gone to on her behalf. Oh well. He could always just bring this incident up the next time something like this happened (and there most certainly would be a next time).

The sound of the rain drumming on the roof had abated during his pointless search. Having no way of knowing when or if there would be another downpour in the near future, Sasha hurriedly made his way out of Milla's cabin with every intention of sprinting back to his lab before the bad weather could start up again. In his haste he nearly collided with Elka Doom, her hand formed into a fist and poised to knock on the door.

Elka gasped and drew her arm back; acting like a snake had opened the door and not a camp counselor that she saw every single day. "Agent Nein!" she said, cradling the hand she'd nearly touched him with as though he had bitten her. "What are you…?" She peeked past him into the one-room cabin beyond him, her face suddenly turning pink. "Um…"

The reaction at first seemed strange to Sasha, until he remembered that most of the camp was not aware of Milla's absence at this time, and that anyone seeing him exiting her quarters at this hour would make certain assumptions about their activities the previous night. "Milla was called away on an emergency mission," he explained hastily. "She left almost an hour ago."

In the span of a second Elka's expression shifted from relieved to disappointed, and then suspicious. "If Milla left about an hour ago," Elka said, her eyes narrowing and her hands on her hips, "what were you doing in her room just now?"

Sasha frowned, not at all appreciating the accusation in Elka's tone. "I do not have to disclose that information to you," he said curtly, exaggerating his accent a little more than necessary. Usually, speaking like that was enough to frighten nosy children off, but apparently Elka Doom was made of sterner stuff, as she didn't budge an inch. He realized then that being secretive would only fuel whatever wild speculation she had running through her mind regarding his presence in Milla's cabin and decided to tell the truth. "But if you must know, Agent Vodello asked me to check if she had left her wallet behind."

"Uh-huh."

The way those two syllables had been uttered implied that Elka did not believe him one bit. "That is the truth, Cadet Doom," Sasha said sternly, "and if I hear a different story making the rounds at camp I will know exactly who the source is."

Elka rolled her eyes. "I'm not a gossip, but okay." She stuck out her lower lip and looked past Sasha again, as though hoping to see that he'd been lying about Milla being gone. "She's really not here?"

"She is not." A moment passed in which Elka did nothing but stand there and block Sasha's way. "Are you going to move, or-"

"Oh, of course she's not here!" Elka burst out, covering her face with her hands. "Right when I needed her the most!"

Sasha stepped back; prepared to flee into the cabin should the girl in front of him break into hysterics. "What could possibly require Agent Vodello's attention at this hour?" he asked.

"You wouldn't understand!" she yelled, pointing at him accusingly. "You're a man!"

It would have been both immature and stupid to allow the words of a high-strung eleven year-old to offend him. And yet his lip curled up in annoyance. "I do not see what my gender has to do with anything. There is nothing you can discuss with Agent Vodello that you cannot discuss with me." Regret hit him the instant he stopped speaking, as he, in all honesty, did not really want to interact with one of the camp's foremost drama queens any more than absolutely necessary.

"You wouldn't get this at all!" Elka repeated.

Again, Sasha's idiot pride set his mouth in motion before his brain could stop it. "Try me."

It seemed that Elka had not expected him to be so insistent, for she fell silent, her need for validation at war with her general disdain for him. Unlike Quentin, she did not look at all that troubled- her eyes were bright and clear, her hair was perfectly done up, and her clothing was immaculate. Sasha would not go so far as to say that Elka did not have her struggles (pre-cogs of her sort were often prone to depression and a quick read-through of her most recent memories revealed that she was having some issues at home) but it didn't seem like there was anything out of the ordinary going on with her today.

After a minute of internal debate, Elka looked up at him and heaved a sigh. "I saw him again."

Sasha waited for her to continue and then, when it became evident that she wasn't going to, made a further inquiry. "Saw who where?"

Elka sent him a withering glare, annoyed that her vague statement hadn't been informative enough for him to grasp her situation. "Nils Lutefisk," she answered.

"Ah. Was he peeping through that hole in the girl's cabin again?" Sasha thought that Ford had repaired that after the first time the boy had been caught.

"No! Well, actually yeah he was, but that's not what I meant." Elka shook her head. "I saw him…" here she paused for dramatic effect, "in a vision." There was a lull in the conversation as Elka waited for Sasha to prompt her with another question. Sasha let her tap her foot impatiently for a few seconds before asking her to elaborate on what she had seen. "Oh, I can't tell _you_ exactly what happened," she said primly, looking away coyly. "All you need to know is that we were together and totally In Love."

Seeing oneself with Nils Lutefisk in a romantic capacity would be rather distressing for any other camper, but wasn't Elka obsessed with this boy? To the point where it was detrimental to her psychic development? "How exactly is this a problem?" Sasha said. "I thought you liked Nils."

Elka sucked in a breath, her hand flying to her chest. "Oh no!" she said, spitting the words out as though they disgusted her to say them. "Don't you know that I'm with James now?"

Sasha wasn't even certain who James was. "Why would I know that?" he said, exasperated and wishing that he hadn't allowed himself to engage with her in this manner. "I don't keep track of who's dating who." Attempting to untangle the social threads tying all these of children together would be a useless and headache-inducing endeavor.

"Ugh!" Elka slapped her palm over her face, likely also regretting that she had tried to talk to him about anything. "I broke up with Nils before camp," she said, speaking slowly, like she was trying to explain it to a very stupid toddler. "And then I met the love of my life, James Theodore Hoofburger."

"Oh, you were referring to J.T." Sasha said, nodding.

Elka's face scrunched up in distaste. "His name is James. And we are so deeply in love that I'm thinking of changing our names to Doom-Hoofburger." She thought a moment, tapping her chin contemplatively. "Well, maybe we'll drop the whole Hoofburger part, it doesn't really roll off the tongue that well."

"Yes, Lutefisk has a much better ring to it," Sasha said dryly.

Elka's mouth dropped open in shock, her fists clenching at her sides. "Agent Nein!" she shrieked, outraged that he would dare insult her in such a way.

"Ms. Doom," Sasha answered calmly.

She crossed her arms over her chest, sticking her nose up in the air as she glared up at him. "I don't think you're taking this seriously."

Sasha shrugged. "I don't know what it is you want me to tell you. If you don't like Nils then remain with J.T."

"His name is James!" Elka corrected shrilly. "And I can't just not be with Nils! I saw us together! In! My! Vision!" The last three words were emphasized with a stomp of her foot on the sandy ground.

"Just because you saw it doesn't mean it has to happen," Sasha said matter-of-factly.

"Yes it does!" Elka argued, looking very much like she wanted to reach out and punch him in the gut. "It's fate!"

"There is no such thing as fate," Sasha reasoned back, "with a little bit of thought and effort, anything seen in a vision can be changed. Why do you think the Psychonauts have an entire department devoted to pre-cognition?"

Elka had no answer to this question that did not invalidate her current world view and rather than concede that he had a point, chose to glare up at him dismissively and insult him. "I should have known better than to try to talk to you about this," she said scornfully. "Everyone knows that you have no experience with romance. I'll just wait for Milla to come back."

Sasha scoffed, wondering how it was possible that everyone could know that. Elka seemed to be under the impression that Milla was some sort of expert on relationships, which Sasha knew to be false. He was sorely tempted to refute that assumption by bringing up the fact that every single one of Milla's relationships had ended disastrously, and only resisted because that would have been a gross violation of her privacy. "The last thing that you need," Sasha said, "is advice encouraging your current behavior patterns."

The sound that came out of Elka's mouth was a mix between a gasp and a shriek."Excuse me?" she yelled, blood rushing to her cheeks.

"This little playground drama that you continuously create with that Lutefisk boy is clearly a distraction for your actual problems," Sasha said bluntly, "which stem from the emotional turmoil that your pre-cognitive visions have caused you."

For a moment, Elka was struck speechless, her mouth opening and closing uselessly as her mind tried to process the honesty that she was obviously not accustomed to hearing. "I- you!" She squeezed her eyes shut and inhaled through her nose. A glance into her mind showed that she was mentally counting to ten, a trick that some hack therapist had probably taught her. Her 'therapist' must not have been very competent, for when she exhaled and opened her eyes she immediately launched into a defense of herself. "I don't know what you mean by 'actual problems'", she said, bracketing the last two words with air quotes, "because the only problems I have are the ones caused by stupid men who don't know how to treat a woman."

The easy thing for Sasha to do would have been to allow Elka to stomp away and seek out one of her more sympathetic campmates to cry to. But would that have been the _right_ thing to do? Would it be responsible to let this child go without at least attempting to address the reasons that she kept involving herself in all of this pointless drama? Drama that, when all was said and done, did nothing to resolve her pain and ultimately affected her mental health negatively? It was for that reason, and not at all because he wanted to have the last word in, that as she turned to go he reached out with his psi-hand and held her firmly in place. "Hey!" she squawked, trying to wrench herself free of the invisible hand grasping her by the shoulder. "Let me go!"

There was a note of genuine fear underneath Elka's tone of haughty indignation, which was really quite understandable given that he was an adult male and there was nobody else in the lake area at the moment. "I will release you," he assured, stepping back to dodge her swinging fists. "Right after I've said what I believe needs to be said."

That reassurance should have been enough to calm Elka's fears regarding his intentions. And yet, he still felt a faint heat creeping up the back of his neck. "Your pyrokinesis is rather weak, considering you're age and rank," he pointed out as he effortlessly blocked her attempt at fire starting him. "Perhaps if you focused more on your studies and less on boys, you would have successfully been able to set me alight."

Elka said nothing; her mouth clenched shut, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of her eyes. Was she going to start crying? Sasha didn't particularly relish the thought, but it wasn't going to stop him. This was, after all, for her own good. "It is not unusual for pre-cognitive psychics to suffer from depression and anxiety, as that ability produces a great strain on a person's well-being." Something softened in Elka's expression then, and she stopped struggling, though her body was still quite tense. Encouraged, Sasha continued. "Witnessing constant misfortune before it even happens is very draining on the psyche and developing ways to cope with your visions is essential to your mental health." Elka looked down, a contemplative look in her eyes that Sasha doubted had anything to do with her shoes. It seemed he was getting through to her, which came as something as a surprise (even though everything he was saying was right). "However, what you are doing right now is not a healthy coping mechanism, and the way you are behaving is detrimental to yourself and to those you draw into this nonsense." Her head snapped back up, all thoughtfulness in her eyes gone, replaced by outrage. "This is the truth," Sasha said, meeting her glare levelly. "You are at an age where your mind is beginning to mature, and any habits you form now will be very difficult to break later in life."

"I'm not coping with anything," Elka snapped, restarting her attempt to wriggle herself free of his telekinetic grip. "My visions of Nils and I together are real! I've seen it so many times-"

"Only because you continuously revisit them during times of crisis," Sasha interrupted.

"Stop talking!" Elka demanded, putting her hands over her ears and squeezing her eyes shut. "James is going to be so mad when I tell him how you attacked me!"

Sasha was glad that she couldn't see him roll his eyes at her immature display. _I understand that you are having very difficult time right now_ , Sasha thought, projecting the words past her meager mental shields directly into her mind, _dealing with your parent's failing marriage. However-_

The thought was cut off by a beam of pure psychic aggression hitting him square in the chest. The psi-blast nearly knocked him off of his feet, and he'd been so caught off guard by it that his telekinesis broke, freeing Elka. She darted off down the beach the second she was released, kicking up sand as she ran. "I'm telling Milla what you did!" she yelled as she fled, heading quickly up the hill that led to the Main Lodge. "You're gonna get in so much trouble!"

"I most certainly will not!" Sasha replied back once he regained his balance and his breath. "She has no authority over me!" This statement was only half true- he and Milla were equals, yes, but she was definitely not going to be happy once she heard that he had used telekinesis on one of the campers. _I had good cause,_ Sasha justified to himself. _That girl wanted advice, and I gave it to her. She's only angry because it wasn't what she wanted to hear._ He looked down at himself, making a quick evaluation of his condition. His chest stung in the way that a minor burn did, but was otherwise fine, and it didn't seem like Elka's psi-blast had left any physical marks aside from a big blackened spot in the middle of his sweater.

A camper using their psychic powers on an instructor outside of classroom setting was a pretty serious offense, but Sasha decided not to take any disciplinary action against her (even though he very annoyed that his sweater was ruined). The show of force was an interesting development coming from Elka Doom, as up until this point he had not observed her using any sort of offensive ability. _She puts quite a lot of effort into maintaining her persona of an innocent victim of circumstance,_ Sasha thought as he began walking towards down the beach. _Perhaps this, in combination with the tension caused by her visions and her increasingly troubled home life has given her a reservoir of psychic aggression for her to draw upon. Interesting._ It was too soon to tell if Elka had any real potential as a marksman, but there was certainly something there that might be worth looking into.

 _She's not a stupid girl_ , Sasha thought as he headed up the slope that lead to the Main Lodge. Some of his words had seemed to resonate with her for a brief moment. She was upset right now, of course but there was a chance that when she calmed herself down, she would be able to reflect on their conversation without her emotions getting in the way, maybe even gaining some much-needed self-awareness.

A drop of water hit him right on the top of his head, followed swiftly by several more. Sasha looked up and sighed, thinking that his hopes for Ms. Doom's future were a little too optimistic.


	3. Chapter 3

Hours passed, the sky cleared, and Sasha changed into a sweater that did not have a big black scorch mark decorating the center. He spent his morning fine-tuning the Brain Tumbler that he had just received from a totally legitimate Ukrainian business, skipping breakfast and not emerging from the G.P.C. until half-past noon, when he had to go to the Main Lodge to teach his one class of the day.

It was Telepathy Tuesday. Calling it that had not been Sasha's idea; he thought the moniker rather foolish because no other day of the week was referred to in that manner. Morry had thought himself very clever when he had come up with that little bit of alliteration, and the name had stuck, despite Sasha's opposition.

Telepathy Tuesday was an unbearably boring hour for both the teacher and the students. The students, with the exception of a select few, showed very little aptitude for the skill beyond the most basic mind-reading and in general found the passive ability less entertaining in comparison to a more active skill like levitation. Sasha, for his part, had better things to do then watch twenty unenthusiastic children trying and failing to read each other's thoughts. It certainly didn't help that the class was far too large to optimally teach the skill- telepathy was better taught in very small classes, as there was too much opportunity for distraction when the group was larger than four or five people.

This Telepathy Tuesday was somehow even less productive than the ones that had preceded it. Today's lesson was introductory memory reading. Sasha had paired the campers up and gave them a very simple assignment: one child would recall a memory from last summer and their partner would try to read it. Only Phoebe Love appeared to be engaged with the task, recalling Elton Fir's harrowing fall into Lake Oblongata the previous year with passable accuracy. The rest of them had either given up or had been too wrapped up in their own personal interests to begin. Elka Doom was very conspicuously absent from class so Sasha had placed Clem, Crystal and Chloe together in a group of three. One wouldn't have known that by looking at them- Crystal and Clem were facing each other, ineffectually attempting to read each other's minds (or perhaps trying to give each other strokes if their equally strained expressions were any indication) while Chloe sat off to the side, fiddling with a small, paper-mache plane Sasha had seen her make yesterday night. He allowed it; the way she tweaked certain parts of the model reminded him of how he'd been working on the Brain Tumbler earlier this morning.

A look around the Main Lodge revealed similar displays of disinterest with the lesson. Kitty and Franke were sitting next to each other, whispering behind their hands (was it too much to ask that they at least use telepathy if they were going to goof off in telepathy class?), the partners he had actually assigned them (Benny and Vernon respectively) left alone and looking forlorn. Quentin Hedgemouse and Lili Zanotto seemed content to sit and do nothing, the former with a rather far-away look in his eyes that implied that he was concentrating all of his mental energy on something else. Was he still thinking over what he had been told this morning? Sasha frowned, disappointed that Quentin had not yet taken any sort of action. He took the room in as a whole, counted each of the children, and realized that Bobby Zilch had slipped out.

He was not inclined to go looking for the boy, and honestly, wasn't too keen on wasting any more of his own time in this manner. He called a halt to the assignment and declared that the remainder of the period would be devoted to independent study.

Elton Fir raised his hand tentatively. "Um, what's independent study?"

Independent Study essentially meant 'do whatever you want, just don't bother me.' Sasha could not in explain it in those terms, however, so he said "It means that you take a subject of your choosing and study it at your own discretion."

Elton furrowed his brows. "But what are we supposed to study?"

"Anything you want," Sasha replied.

Elton's eyes slid over to Lili, who was making her way towards the door. "Are we, um," he cleared his throat and raised his voice, "Are we allowed to study plants?"

"If you do it independently, yes."

"When do we stop?" Phoebe asked, coming up to him.

"When it's dinner time," Sasha answered, impatient to leave the lodge and get back to his work.

"What about levitation class?" Phoebe continued. "We have that today too."

"Why would we have levitation if Agent Vodello is not here to teach it?"

"Well, I thought that you'd substitute." Phoebe abruptly slapped her forehead, her cheeks turning red. "Oh, right, sorry!" she said sheepishly, "I forgot that you couldn't float up."

Sasha blinked, the corners of his mouth turning downward. "I can most certainly float up," he said defensively, wondering where the hell Phoebe had heard that he couldn't. "My levitation is perfectly competent."

"That ain't what the Coach said." Benny Fidelo had come up from seemingly out of nowhere, his large ears likely picking up on an opportunity to cause trouble. "He said you couldn't get it up because your head was too full of useless facts and cigarette smoke."

"That is completely untrue, and I strongly suggest that you not phrase it in that manner again, Cadet Fidelo," Sasha said sharply, mentally swearing revenge on the Coach for this insult.

"Is it untrue?" Kitty Bubai asked sweetly as she walked up, Franke Athens close on her heels.

Sasha sent the girl a withering glare. "You know that it is. All of you have witnessed me using levitation to ascend the Coach's tree house." All four campers opened their mouths to speak, but Sasha quickly cut them off. "I do not want to hear another word about this. I am going to close my eyes and anyone still here when I open them will fail this session and have to do a one-on-one make-up class with me in my lab."Four sets of feet fled from his table before his eye lids even met. He removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will the headache that he felt forming away. When he replaced his glasses and opened them he was incredibly dismayed to discover Vernon Tripe standing in front of his table, a stack of papers clutched to his chest. "Why are you still here? Did you not hear what I just said?"

"Oh, I heard you," Vernon replied in that slow, inflectionless, and somewhat congested manner of speaking he had. "I was actually hoping to get your opinion on a project that I've been working on."

Those awful words sent a chill down Sasha's spine. "Ah, well," he said, looking around the lodge to see if there were any other campers around to witness him backpedaling on his threat. "The make-up class is for telepathy only, so unless your…project is centered around that subject, I'm afraid that I cannot be of any assistance."

"It's got a lot to do with telepathy, Agent Nein," Vernon said, offering Sasha the papers he was holding. "It's a play that I'm writing," he explained as Sasha took the crumpled stack. "For Milla's puppet show."

Sasha took one look at the page on top, saw that it was filled from top to bottom with print so tiny that it was nearly illegible, and promptly handed the papers back. "I cannot read all of that," Sasha said brusquely, "now, I believe that you have some independent study to be…studying."

"I'll read it to you," Vernon offered, moving to sit next to Sasha. "I'm an excellent reader. It's in my blood."

"That won't be necessary," Sasha said, rising from his seat and hurriedly making his way to the doors.

But Vernon, who had both a story to tell and an unfortunate victim to tell it to, was not going to be so easily discouraged. He darted out in front of Sasha, moving much faster than one would have thought him capable of on his short legs and reached the doors before Sasha did, effectively blocking his exit. "Now, I know that this is just a rough draft," Vernon said as he cleared his throat, "but I think it's pretty good. You're gonna love it."

He began to read then, infusing the script with same amount of enthusiasm that an insurance agent would have when speaking to a client about their policy. Sasha opened his mouth and tried to issue a command for Vernon to move, but could not get a word in through the deluge of inanity pouring forth from Vernon's mouth. Frantically, Sasha searched the lodge, looking for a way to remove Vernon from his presence that did not involve him using his powers on a child twice in one day. He couldn't think of any, couldn't focus, for Vernon's voice kept intruding on his thoughts, like an insipid and unwelcome guest that kept trying to summarize Swann's Way to him.

Sasha did not know how much time passed in this manner, only that his senses seemed to grow duller and duller with every word that Vernon spoke. He had no idea what was happening in the 'play', nor could he differentiate between the characters, as Vernon used the exact same monotone when reading all of them. At some point, Sasha began to lose his grasp of the English language, gradually comprehending less and less of what Vernon was saying. There were characters in this play and they were going to the right, and then five paces to the left, and then down a flight of steps- or had it been up? Where even were these people? Where, for that matter, was Sasha? Was he still in the Main Lodge at Whispering Rock Psychic Summer Camp, or had his mind transcended physical reality and moved on to a realm of unfathomable tedium?

And then suddenly, blessedly, Vernon stopped speaking, and the cessation of that bland, mind-numbing voice brought Sasha back to reality. "Oh man," Vernon said, looking up at Sasha owlishly. "This scene reminds me of the time that I got lost in Ollie's Bargain Outlet."

Now that all of Sasha's mental facilities had returned to him a method of escape from this drivel came to him immediately. In the split-second that Vernon took to draw in a breath Sasha went invisible. He bypassed Vernon easily and was out the door before the boy could even blink. He jumped over the porch rail and levitated himself down to the ground. "Agent Nein?" Sasha heard Vernon ask as his feet touched the grass. "Where'd ya go?"

Sasha, still invisible, looked up and saw that Vernon had walked out of the lodge, his head swiveling around as he searched for his escaped victim, calling after him in his deep, off-putting voice. Could Vernon sense where he was, even in his incorporeal state? Sasha would have first assumed no, but the boy's eyes seemed to fall on him too many times for it to be just a coincidence. He decided that he would not risk it. _Do not move,_ Sasha thought, using telepathy to communicate with Vernon without speaking so as to not give away his position. _Do not think. Definitely do not speak._ Vernon held his papers close, his body still, only his eyes moving from to the left and right. _I have been hit by an Intercontinental Atomic-Scrambling Beam. Do not speak!_ he ordered as Vernon opened his mouth to make a proclamation of shock. _Just nod if you can understand me. This is a very delicate situation._ Vernon nodded, his eyes wide, reminding Sasha of a very stupid frog he had met in the Amazon a few years back. _It is imperative that you proceed to Coach Oleander and recount the last five- no, ten hours as you recall it in as explicit and excruciating detail as you can manage. My physical form depends upon you doing this._

"Should I read the Coach my play?" Vernon asked out loud.

 _Yes, and tell him about what happened to you at Ollie's._

"Oh man, Agent Nein, that one's a whopper. I wish you were alive to hear it."

 _I'm not dead yet,_ Sasha corrected, wanting nothing more than for this strange, toady little child to hop away. _But I will be soon if you don't report everything to the Coach. Go! Go right now and go quickly!_ Vernon sprinted off, moving faster than Bobby Zilch on a levitation ball, a story no doubt already on the tip of his tongue. Sasha did not take his eyes off of Vernon's back until the boy was out of his range of vision, breathing out a sigh of relief once he was gone. He reached into his jacket with telekinesis and pulled out a cigarette from the pack he kept there. _I refuse to believe,_ he thought as he levitated the cigarette to his mouth, _that the agency could be so hard for pre-cognitive psychics that they must resort to the likes of Vernon Tripe._

He was about to light up, but a noise that resembled a minor explosive impact caught his attention before he could focus his pyrokinesis. It was coming from the other side of the Main Lodge, just around the corner from where Sasha currently stood. He remembered that the Coach had set up a shooting range at the base of the lodge, using big bales of hay as the targets. It appeared that at least one camper was taking Sasha's independent study assignment seriously. Sasha made his way over, curious as to who that person was, his unlit cigarette hovering at his side as he walked.

The shooter was revealed to be one J.T. Hoofburger, firing away at the hay bales at a measured pace, each blast hitting the target sheet fixed onto the bale. Sasha did not immediately approach, instead taking a second to observe and critique J.T.'s technique. _His aim is superb,_ Sasha noted after half a minute, _and his standing technique is perfect; he is careful not to let the force of the blast snap his neck back. However, his blasts are getting progressively weaker, and he appears to be tiring out. I give him five more shots before he's out of ammo._

Sasha's prediction was correct, and after the fifth shot J.T. took off his hat and wiped his brow, looking very pleased with himself. This seemed like the proper time to approach, so Sasha did, walking up and stopping when he was about three steps away from J.T. "Your psi-blasting is decent," Sasha began, "you chose your independent study subject well."

J.T., apparently not having heard Sasha come up, jumped approximately forty-five centimeters in the air, a startled yelp escaping his lips. He looked behind himself and then blinked in confusion. "What in tarnation?" he asked, looking around uneasily, his eyes passing over Sasha as though he could not see him. That was because J.T. couldn't see him, as Sasha was still invisible. He re-appeared and J.T. once again jumped and yelped, though not quite as high or as loudly as he had the first time. "A-agent Nein," he stammered, hand clutched to his heart. "You scared me so bad I nearly bit the ground!"

Sasha was not sure what 'bit the ground' meant and was not interested enough to inquire about it. "Are you out here on your own?" Sasha asked, keeping a look out for Elka Doom, who must have informed J.T. of his crimes against her by now. J.T. looked away and did not answer, the question making him uncomfortable. Why, Sasha didn't know, as he could not recall ever giving this particular camper any reason to fear him. "Elka is not with you?" he asked before the silence could stretch into awkwardness. "I heard that the two of you were dating."

J.T.'s head snapped up, his expression stricken. "Uh, no, she ain't…she ain't here," he mumbled nervously, glancing around as though he expected her to emerge from the woodwork at any second. "Just me here, all by my lonesome."

"Hm. Very good. I'd like to speak to without being interrupted." Sasha lit the cigarette levitating at his side and glided it over to his mouth. He took a long, slow drag and blew out a stream of gray smoke. "You are quite adept at targeting," he continued as J.T. watched the smoke dissipate, "Do you practice this ability outside of camp?"

"Aw, shucks," J.T. said, rubbing the back of his neck, the praise relaxing him just a smidge. "Yeah, I practice a lot at home. Got the whole line-of-tin-cans-on-a-fence-setup and everything." A wistful smile came to his face. "Me n' Pa'll go out sometimes and just shoot; course he uses a rifle. Sometimes we're out there 'til the sun hits the horizon."

"Yes, yes, that's very nice," Sasha interrupted, not wanting to hear two boring stories in one day. "I take it that this means that you have an interest in improving your skills."

J.T. shrugged. "'reckon I do," he answered, his discomfort returning.

Sasha frowned, disappointed in J.T.'s lack of enthusiasm. "We do not, as a rule, train anybody in marksmanship until they have obtained their shielding and levitation badges," he said, taking another drag as he reached into his jacket pocket. "That is the agency's policy, not mine." He pulled out the 'button' (actually a circular key) that opened the hatch to his lab and floated it over to J.T. "However, I believe that you would be a good candidate for my advanced training."

J.T. let the button hover in front of him for a second before gingerly taking it. "Well I…sure do appreciate the offer, Agent Nein," he said, giving Sasha a polite smile. "But, uh, I dunno. I don't think I'm ready yet."

"Why do you say that?" Sasha demanded to know.

J.T. swallowed, taking a small step back. "Well, uh, I only just got my telekinesis badge. Don't wanna get too big for my britches," he trailed off with a weak laugh. "You know what I'm sayin'?"

Sasha really would have had less trouble taking this kid seriously if he didn't insist on talking like a cartoon character. "How can you know that? You don't even know what my advanced training entails."

"W-well, I…" J.T. shot a glance back at the hay bales as if they would have an answer for him. "Suppose you got a point," he conceded. "But I'm the kind of felller who likes to do things in the proper order. And it ain't like I'm in a rush."

Sasha shrugged. "Suit yourself." He took what remained of his cigarette and burned it up, letting the ashes blow away in the breeze. J.T. watched with a strangely anxious expression. "Be aware that you cannot improve doing the same things over and over again. Your aiming and technique are good but I have noticed quite a few flaws that can be corrected with proper education."

"Flaws?" he asked, slipping his hand under his hat to scratch at his head. "Like what? You sayin' I'm going about this shootin' thing all wrong?" He didn't sound at all offended, merely inquisitive.

"Now, you cannot expect me to tell you that here." Sasha gestured to the button in J.T.'s hand. "If you truly wish to learn, come by my lab before lunch tomorrow. You'll receive a marksmanship learner's permit and I will personally teach you how to improve on all of your problem areas."J.T. held the button in his palm, brows furrowed as he thought the offer over. His expression was a mix of tempted and apprehensive, and it did not appear that he would come to a decision anytime soon. "This is the time that you need to start thinking about your future as a Psychonaut," Sasha said, "and where you would like your place in the agency to be."

J.T. nodded absently, putting the button in his back pocket. "Yeah, I reckon that's true. But does it have to be in your lab?" He looked down, mumbling at his shoes. "Think it'd be just as good practicing out here on the range."

What was with these campers and their aversion to his lab? Sasha had been coming here for years and in all that time only one camper had been injured on his watch, and through their own error, not his. "My lab is the safest place, as there won't be any way that one of your peers could wander in and cause an accident." Sasha thought a moment, and then added, "At the very least, it will get you away from Elka for a little while."

J.T. visibly brightened upon hearing that, though he still appeared rather hesitant. "Yeah, you know…I'll think about it, Agent Nein," he said, sounding as though he was only saying it to get Sasha to leave rather than out of any real intention of seriously considering anything. This irritated Sasha, and he stared at J.T. with a stony expression until the boy flinched. "I'll come by, alright? I'll be there tomorrow," he said hastily, hands thrown up defensively. "Psychic Scout's honor!"

"Hm, yes. I expect to see you there at eleven o'clock sharp."

"Isn't that during Basic Braining?"

"Skip it. I will cover for you." With that as a farewell, Sasha turned on his heel and walked away, confident that J.T. Hoofburger's good manners would prevent him from flaking on an established meeting. _His reluctance is merely the result of him taking those ridiculous rumors about what goes on in my lab too seriously. I'm certain that once he gets through the first session he will be eager to attend the next._ A lesson plan was already forming in his mind as he made his way back to his lab. Between this and his work on the brain tumbler, he figured that he would well-occupied until Milla returned the next day.


End file.
